


Upon The Highest Perch, Majestic

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 2nd Age - Rings, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:19:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3759353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first dawn of Imladris also marks the dawn of other things to come...  Elrond/Celebrian; Celeborn/Galadriel; slight angst set mostly in Rivendell</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upon The Highest Perch, Majestic

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

He sat upon the highest perch in the secret valley, bare-footed, his long, raven-dark hair unbound and carelessly mingling with the evening breeze… Much resembling his maternal ancestor Lúthien in those elder days of love and freedom and discovery, those glorious elder days of Doriath, of Menegroth, of Melian the Maia and Elu Thingol…

It was thus that Lord Celeborn of once-mighty Eregion came upon the young Elven warrior—both the pride and seemingly sole vulnerability of the Noldorin High King Gil Galad—as he strolled in the first evening of the newly established stronghold of Imladris.

Elrond Eärendilion he was—the wise, albeit still relatively young, Master of all lore—tall and broad in stature, old and ancient in memory. Son of the Star of Hope, the rightful heir to two Elven thrones… And yet, as Gil Galad’s Vice Regent sat there in awe, beholding the first realm he was to call his very own, Celeborn saw before him neither prince, nor lord, nor future king, but something far, far greater and majestic.

He saw the hands of a healer, stained with blood, skin raw with not only the strongest of poultices, but the cuts and scratches acquired from the desperately fading grip of countless dying hands wringing and writhing from pain, and fear, and worry, and terror of separation… The slightest movement of Elrond’s face enabled Celeborn also to see the eyes of a teacher, forever calm, patient with the steady workings of time, concern for the future of his many students written plainly upon his melancholy countenance… But most of all—most of all these things he saw before his very perceptive eyes—were the innumerable burdens Elrond bore without thought or complaint.

Half-Elven he was, his very blood the marriage of inevitable death and eternal life, his very being the manifestation of what some uphold was never truly meant to be. His childhood, marred by tragedy, further darkened by prejudice… For despite the valiant efforts of the High King, even the thoughts and opinions of all Elves cannot be swayed so easily. And so it was that Elrond Peredhil was lesser to some, a poor imitation of what Men could never be—ought never be.

‘What folly it is to think thus, for behold his courage—borne of Men—and hope—again, borne of Men… Behold his benevolence and kindness, so devoid of our characteristic arrogance and self-righteousness… Nay, behold him—all of him, this Half-Elven son of Eärendil—and witness what the rest of the Eldar shall never become, to the ruin and fading of our people…’

“My Lord? What troubles you so, as to rouse you from rest? `Tis barely dawn…”

Celeborn smiled fluidly at Elrond and briefly closed his eyes, expertly concealing his slight embarrassment at being caught musing absently to himself. “Aye, `tis approaching dawn indeed, Master Elrond. But be you not alarmed; I often indulge in depriving myself of sleep, as I have discovered you often do as well. I find walking alone to gather my thoughts far more relaxing than lying on my back, impatiently waiting for the day to begin.”

“Indeed…” Elrond nodded to himself distractedly before he resumed his serious examination of the haven below. “I do not believe I can ever rest completely, while I am Lord of this place.”

Chuckling slightly, Celeborn sat down beside his companion, clapping him on the shoulder as he did so. “Then I take it that you shall not rest until the unmaking of Arda?”

Sighing, Elrond squinted up at the last remaining stars and said rather uneasily, “Will Ereinion no longer need me in Lindon?”

“I do not believe the question of ‘need’ is at issue here, Elrond.”

“Ah. Forgive me—what is at issue here, then?”

Smiling, Celeborn watched as Elrond bowed his head, closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead slowly, before the silver-haired Elf Lord continued in a more detached and authoritative tone. “By the work of your own hands you have built this realm as a stronghold against Sauron. You cannot tell me that your Noldorin blood does not yearn to claim lordship over—”

“Imladris? I have named it so, as you have known for some time. My very being yearns to call this place my own—you are quite correct in your assumption. But my duties to the High King…”

“I believe Ereinion can make better use of you here. You seem to underestimate your High King’s ability to look out for himself, Lord Peredhil. Perhaps leaving Ereinion to fend for himself would rather be more beneficial to you.”

“He is the only real father I have ever known, my Lord. I cannot tell you how deeply my gratitude…”

“Then stay here and prove to him that he is correct in appointing you as the Lord of Imladris. Do not fail him in this, for he is most proud of you. `Tis not easy growing up as you did, Elrond; I cannot imagine the pain and confusion you and Elros felt the day your mother left you, nor the loss you must have felt when Maglor…” At this, Celeborn sighed and shook his head, physically dispelling the memories he knew he was tempting to resurface. “Without further paining you with memories and feelings of loss, mellon-nîn, I simply wish to say that the responsibility of claiming Imladris as yours need not be treated as a daunting burden. You may, after all, come to like it here.”

“And I may, after all, come to like being my own Lord, having no one but myself to heed and obey. `Twould certainly be of some relief to be distanced from Ereinion thus, when he is in the foulest and impossibly demanding of moods—which he has been of late,” Elrond added ruefully before he allowed a small smile to brighten the light of the stars in his astonishing grey eyes. “Tell me, Lord Celeborn, do you find it fitting for me to rule such a realm as this?”

“Imladris is… quiet, and yet brimming with life. And I do not simply speak of us—its new inhabitants. The Bruinen thunders through this valley—like a steady heartbeat in one’s body—without truly overpowering the peace and tranquility of the forest. You chose this particular place, Elrond, because it calls to you, and knows you somehow, just as you know it without truly needing to explore every rock and leaf and branch abiding within it. Now, are you fit to rule such a realm as this? I do not doubt it my friend, I do not doubt it at all.”

There was a brief moment of utter silence, when, to Celeborn, even the roaring loud waters of the Bruinen seemed to pause and ponder his reply. Then, as though it were merely a trick of his imagination, the loud waters resumed, cascading through the secret valley, a constant belt of foam and spray and water pushing its way relentlessly down, towards places and paths both he and Elrond had yet to discover.

“Celeborn, mellon-iaur?”

Celeborn tore his gaze away from the valley below and looked at his younger companion.

“Thank you for your heartening words.” Elrond Half-Elven’s mouth curved upwards, revealing rarely seen dimples Celeborn was sure would make even his own Lady-wife smile appreciatively.

“I only speak the truth, son of Elwing—there is no need to thank me.”

“Son of Elwing? I am rarely referred to thusly…”

Celeborn raised an eyebrow and coolly slapped Elrond’s arm in slight reproof. “You are not proud to be the son of Elwing of Doriath—my kinswoman?”

“On the contrary. There is never a time when I do not ponder the bravery and courage of my mother, and aspire to her determination in all the tasks and duties I have been appointed, however—”

“Ai, my words were only in jest, Elrond. Come to think of it, I truly know not the reason why I referred to you thus…”

There was another bout of silence, before Elrond splayed out his arms behind him and leaned his weight upon his elbows. “I believe I have an explanation…”

“And that would be…?” Celeborn asked, mimicking his actions and stretching his long legs before him, even as he gazed up at the early dawn sky.

“Your family. You miss them dearly. `Tis why you have resorted to referring to me as the child of Elwing, my mother, and your kinswoman, rather than that of my father.”

“I cannot tell you if that is the real reason, but aye, I must concede that I do miss my wife and daughter, Elrond. More than I can bear, methinks.”

“Do not speak thus. You shall see them again—”

“Nerwen and I were not exactly on speaking terms when we were last together…”

“I am sorry for that.”

Sighing, Celeborn closed his eyes and nodded in regretful agreement. “As am I, Elrond. As am I.”

“Perhaps your daughter has been helpful in this matter? It has, after all, been some years since you and the Lady parted… Mayhap she has spoken kindly on your behalf?”

“Celebrían? Aye, perhaps. She was not happy, watching me leave without bidding her mother a proper farewell. My daughter is quite the peacemaker, I must admit. And she has, in the past, helped Galadriel and I see beyond our differences—however gravely incongruous those differences in opinion have become during these last few years…”

“I am certain she has swayed your wife somehow. After all, from what little I have heard you speak of your daughter, she seems to fulfill her responsibilities as your child quite well…”

“Ah, and that being…?”

“Always taking your side.”

Celeborn chuckled and cast a sideways glance at Elrond, who by now was sitting up with his knees propped tightly against his chest. “I will have you know, that I would give anything to see you with a daughter, Elrond. Your poor wife would be utterly distressed at your endless conspiring against her.”

“Myself, with a daughter? That would indeed be worth a great deal to see. And a wife? I shall think not, my Lord.”

“We shall see in due time. None can truly know the great song of Ilúvatar but Eru Himself—who is to say what lies ahead in your future?”

“I cannot agree with you more, meldir, but as of now, I am content just to see you happy with your family. I have no wish to start one of my own—leastways, not yet. I shall merely appreciate the pleasures of having a wife and daughter through your experiences. My responsibilities are far too great for me even to consider—”

“You say that now, Peredhil. But wait and see. It takes a mere look from your chosen maiden for you to cast everything you are aside and fall promptly at her feet.”

“Ah, Ereinion was indeed telling the truth then, when I asked him to recount how you met and courted the Lady Galadriel…”

“I am not ashamed to admit defeat, where my Lady-wife is concerned. I do not think you will be, either, my friend, when it comes time for you to—”

“That would be a long, long, time coming, Celeborn.”

“Yes, but that time will come.”

“Why do you not plague Ereinion with such talk?”

“Because he is simply not the marrying type.”

“By Elbereth! And I am?!”

“Why, yes…” Celeborn stood, gracefully dusted off his cloak and began to walk back to the Last Homely House, without so much as looking back at Elrond. “I can see it in your eyes,” he muttered under his breath.

“And whatever does THAT mean?!” Elrond quickly asked as he followed in Celeborn’s wake, his misgivings about ruling Imladris temporarily dispelled by the silver-haired Elf’s teasing.

* * *

He sat upon the highest perch, majestic.

In her dreams, she saw the hands of a healer, stained with blood, skin raw with not only the strongest of poultices, but the cuts and scratches acquired from the desperately fading grip of countless dying hands wringing and writhing from pain, and fear, and worry, and terror of separation… Inexplicably, the slightest movement of his concealed face allowed her to see only his eyes… The eyes of a teacher, forever calm, patient with the steady workings of time, concern for the future of his many students written plainly upon his melancholy gaze… But most of all—most of all these things she saw in her most vivid of dreams—were the innumerable burdens her nameless and faceless Elven Lord bore without thought or complaint… It was the kindness in his eyes that made her feel warm, safe, and secure from the many dangers of the world around them…

Celebrían, daughter of Lord Celeborn of once-mighty Eregion, was roused ever tenderly from sleep by the elegant touch of her mother. Looking into her mother’s sapphire eyes, she saw sorrow and pain etched in them, and yet… There was something more.

Hope. Anxiety. Anticipation. For the briefest and most fleeting of moments, it was as though the expression in his eyes mirrored that of her mother…

“Rise, sell-nîn. Come, for we must go to your Father at once…” With those words, the Lady Galadriel rose from her daughter’s bed and glided to her own room to prepare herself for the long journey ahead. To Imladris. To Celeborn. To Elrond. To her beloved daughter’s fate and future. And her own.

“Naneth…?” Celebrian called out in confusion to her mother’s retreating form. “You now know where Adar is?”

“Come, Celebrían, we must hurry. Make haste, for our journey will be a perilous one…”

“`T’would not be so perilous, if Ada knows we are coming…”

Hearing the apprehensive sharpness in her daughter’s voice, the Lady Galadriel peered into the adjoining room and regarded her daughter reassuringly. “He will know, sell-nîn. He will know—in time.”

Nodding slowly, and finding herself taking comfort in her mother’s hopeful words, Celebrían began to dress for travel, even as she absently entertained a stray thought that dared to linger upon the edge of her mind, despite the fear that gripped her at the thought of possibly seeking out her father amidst the ruins of Eregion…

…Would this journey bring to her the realization of her recent dreams—those vivid dreams in which she could almost touch those hands that healed, and look into those eyes that taught?

She forcefully pushed the thought away, roughly berating herself for having such fantasies worthy of a love-struck Elfling. She had her father to find. She had her family to unite. Other things and concerns mattered little—if at all—in comparison to seeing her mother and father together once again.

END


End file.
